


The One

by Wycked



Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom, Thibo - Fandom, bagginshield - Fandom, hobbit - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-02
Packaged: 2018-02-27 16:55:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2700356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wycked/pseuds/Wycked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if all Dwarf's knew of their One from their 40th' Birthday, and what if Bilbo Baggins was Thorin Oakenshield's One. What if it changed everything? What if it made things different. Better? And at both, Worse. What if it changed everything? Giving life, and taking it away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Protector of the Wise

Chapter One: Protector of the Wise

A small voice hiccupped, curling against his mother’s side as he stared out at the edges of Erebor, just a tween, not full grown by any state of the imagination, but already teased about his lack of a One, the wind caught the pines and sung just so, and his mother cuddled him to her. “Mama, what’s a One?” the words whispered and tiny. He’d been picked on by one of the other dwarrows while learning his lessons, and he had a shiny black eye and scratches for his troubles. 

Mai, wife of Thrór', smiled into her son’s dark hair, cuddling him to her while he still let her. He was young, just a tween still, and sometimes still allowed her to cuddle him against her, and she remembered as a child, asking her own dam. “ Every dwarf knows their One, upon the day they meet, when eyes come together.” She murmured to him. She felt the soft silky black hair shake against her head. 

“No mama, I didn’t want to know how you recognize them, but what are they?” the words quiet and confused. 

“It’s like a soul mate, Thorin, but more. “ the words soft, a tune hummed from her voice. “It’s the One person, who instantly knows you better than anyone else.” She carded her fingers through his hair as she talked. He stiffened, all teenage pride, and she started taking his braid out and redoing it as she talked, her gaze soft, fingers slipping through tween silken strands of dark length. 

“It’s someone who makes you a better person my son.” The words soft, as she carefully braided, then moved to the next braid. “Actually they don’t make you a better person, they make you yourself, because they inspire you Thorin.” She spoke softly, caringly as she worked to straighten the young prince’s hair. 

“It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you and believed you before anyone else did, or would.” The words still soft as she reached for the handkerchief in her pocket and used it to dab at the tween’s split lip. 

“A One is someone you carry with you forever, even if they aren’t there. And no matter what happens, you’ll always love them. Nothing, nothing can change that Thorin.” She would push the braids back over his shoulders, inspecting her handiwork. 

“You have a One, all dwarves have a One. You just haven’t met them yet.” The words soft and caring. “You will meet your One, Thorin, and you will know. Time will tell my youngling, all Durin’s know, when they meet their One.” She grinned faintly at his dissatisfied look and his grumbling. 

“You come near your fortieth year Thorin, and your Dream will come, you will know your One then. To hold in your heart. Gandalf said on your naming day that your One is not a dwarf.” The words ever so gentle as she broke the news to her son that he did not know. 

Startled, Thorin’s eyes swung to his mother and he stared at her. “Mother! Why didn’t anyone tell me…” the words trailed off in hurt? 

“We didn’t tell you because you weren’t’ old enough Dear heart. Because you weren’t ready to know. Your Dream is coming soon, your birthday is almost upon us, and you’re almost a Dwarf grown. You should know what we where told when you where Named.” The words soft, ever so soft.  
“Your One is special Thorin, of a different race. No, don’t look like that, not an elf.” Her delighted laughter saw his terrorized look for a moment. “We do not know much about him, only what Gandalf has told us. At his look of entreaty she broke and pressed her hand to his cold cheek, for the wind was growing chill.  
“Small as a Wisp, with a Heart of Gold, Born of Two Fires, Protector of your Line as Time Requires, and the Darkest of Deep, your Son’s heart He will Keep. All that wanders is not Lost, Durin’s line has paid the Cost, and Only what has Fallen can ever Rise, come the Protector of the Wise.” 

She could see her son’s thought’s racing; he was biting his bottom lip. “Mind your expression my son.” The words soft. “He exists. Keep that in here.” She would lean forward and touch her hand to her son’s strong young chest. “Be strong for him my son. Your One is named Protector of the Wise by Mahal. Listen to him, no matter what comes. Promise me.” 

He bit his lip, nodding his head. “I promise you Mother, I’ll listen to him. No matter what comes.” With a soft smile he would grin, and lean his head against her. “My birthday is tomorrow, do you think I’ll Dream of him?” the words hesitant to ask, and she pecked a kiss to the top of his head. ‘Of course you will my son.”


	2. Dreams of Fire

Chapter Two: Dreams of One

He couldn't sleep. Of course he couldn't sleep. Tonight was the night he was supposed to Dream. His brother Frenrir had been teasing him all day, and his sister Dis had been watching him worried, his father, vague as ever, stared after him. His grandfather had taken even the time to smile at him tonight, which was at least a break from his hording. He exhaled a breath, rolling onto his side on the comfortable bed in his chambers. He wondered what his One was going to be like. His mother had, as always, been the best thing in the world. Comforting him with soothing words, swatting his brother for his teasing, and soothing Dis. He bit his bottom lip, staring into the fireplace of his chambers. 

Finally though, the crackle of the fire lulled his eyes closed, and the first thing he could hear, was singing, soft singing, voices overlapping Erie like, swirling around him. He cried out to Mahal, huddling to the ground in the cold. It was bitter cold in his dream, and over the shriek of fighting could be heard over the sound. Panicked sound of dwarves fleeing, and he stared apalled as an Orc pack was after many of them, blurred faces that he could not see properly. A white worg, with a white orc rose before them, and then suddenly he saw himself, older, racing down a half down pine tree. Attempting to protect the small band of what he could only hope was his kin. His eyes looked at the figures, desperate to try to find any details, he was supposed to be able to see his One! And for the moment, that was all he cared for. Then his gaze turned as the White Orc spat something at his older figure, and he despaired a little, for he was quite obviously older. So it would not be soon. 

He saw himself beaten to the ground, and stared appalled, was this Mahal's way of laughing at him? Of proving that he had no One? Was he to then watch his own death? He keened a little, but then, a wicked blow, his figure was down on the ground, and an order from the White Orc, he supposed, and one came at him with a sword, he struggled to get to his own, but a blade was at his throat, ready to take his head, and he keened again, watching. Then out of nowhere, a small form, out of nowhere, tackled the Orc off him, a small blade flashing out, stabbing the Orc in the chest, the figure standing protectively over his own body. He stared so hard, he felt his eyes watering. Then screams as the others joined the fight. Golden curls, he saw that as much. His One was fighting, slashing a warg across the face, then down on the ground with a Warg approaching him. His limp form laid across the stone, and he had at least a blessing under his breath for his body had seen his One at least, even if it died of it's wounds. He felt himself screaming for his One to run, and hands holding his body down even as he closed his eyes and tried to See.

He had to make sure his One was safe, suddenly the cold was more intense, and the vision shifted, and he saw a home, deep in the green of the area, bitter snow all around it, smoke coming from the top. Wargs ravaged the countryside, he saw them again and again, taking the little people down, then he saw something that made his blood run cold, Orcs, stealing along the snow, they entered a home nearby and he heard the screams, clenching his eyes he could only pray that his One was safe, and then he saw it, the orcand the wargs coming to the warm house on the hill, and he was racing towards it, screaming for his One to run to get safe, unable to help himself, feeling so helpless that he could do nothing. He tore into the house after the Orc, heard the screams inside, the helpless pleading. A small figure a man was on the floor, with an orc blade in his chest, and a woman stood, protecting something behind her, and the wolf went for the woman, and she brought down a pan, for that was all she had, and for an instant, he went stock still.

There in the small shadow of the woman's back, even as she fell and screamed under Orc and Warg he saw his One, small golden dark eyes and golden curls, and then the little one was screaming and rushing the Orc, hands on a butcher knife, and he keened, for his One was no more than a little one, and he wanted to protect him, he tried to grab him, but he went right through. Tried to protect him, and then the little one was on the orc, and stabbed him, and down they both went, the scuffle had at least scared away the Warg for a moment, and he heard his One screaming, and he felt hands on him holding him down. He vaguely heard his mother's voice crying out. "hold him down, he's hurting himself!" and then he was back in the dream. The warg was coming, he tried to shout it to the tiny figure that saw could not hear him, and he struggled against the hands that held him down, trying to protect his One, he could feel tears leaking down the sides of his face as he struggled. 

The warg lept for the little one, but the little one was screaming too, and he was screaming, and the warg bit down on his One's shoulder, and Thorin screamed too, rawly with pain, His One, his One was in trouble, was going to die, before he'd ever gotten to live. He only saw a moment, the woman that had been so injured by the Orc, was suddenly there. Blade in her hand, her small figure covered in blood, and slit the beasts neck. She tumbled to the floor even as her son crawled to her, bleeding from his injuries. The sound of pounding fists upon the door, for the orc had closed it behind him. "Are you okay in there? HELLO?" and then his eyes snapped open even as he saw his One's mouth open in a mourning scream. His father was holding him down, along with Dwalin and two guards, his mother was pale and almost bloodless in the face, and weeping into her hands. He choked, then his gaze swam, and he looked up into his father's face. "There you go lad" the words where gentle. "Easy now, your back with us. Your okay." 

But he saw then the fear in his Father's eyes even as the Prince ordered the guards to release his son, they shuffled from the room, and his mother was there then, he saw Frenrir and Dis in the doorway, their small worried faces peering at him as he wept against his mother's side. "He saved me..and then he was attacked..by an Orc and Warg..He was injured...I don't know if he survived..he was just a little...not even full grown..and he was bitten..and it was cold..and I think he was dying.." the words pitiful. His mother choked out a sob and drew him up against her, petting his hair. "It's okay Thorin, it's okay...shss...shss it's okay, the Dream has passed. It's okay.." 

Thrór' stared down at his son, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head, he moved to the door, waving his two other children away from it. His hand paused to pat Frenrir's head. "Come Frenrir..Dis." the words soft as he left his wife to comfort their eldest. He moved into their commonplace, what we would call a living room, settling in front of the fire. Both of his children where looking at him, and he sighed. "Frenrir, your brother's One is Dead..no small one could withstand an orc attack like that. That means someday that you or Dis will have to continue the line of Durin, for Thorin will have no other but his One, and with his One..not...not there." the words where difficult to say.

"Then you shall have to be there for him. In all things, the lines of Durin shall not end with Thorin, son of Thrór'" Dis threw herself at her Papa, and he curled her against him, staring into the fire and wishing that his son had a different One. His daughter's tears soaking into his shirt. 

Frenrir said nothing as he stared into the fire, but he ducked his head, mourning for what his brother had lost. 

Unknown to the Crown Prince of Erebor, Thrór', who's father was King under the Mountain, he could not be more wrong. Thorin's One, was, truely injured, but not dead. Injured in body, mind and soul, lost of his parents, but not alone. Old Took took the boy in, carrying him into his study, there he did as he had learned upon the Road many years ago when his own feet took to adventuring, cleaning the wound and sewing it, then bandaging it. This boy was half Took, and took after his precious daughter may Yavana bless her, and he was more Took than Baggins, for the boy took after her if the way he'd fought was any sign, well then, He'd raise him in the manner of Tooks. The boy would live, he was a fighter. 

But with luck, and the Will of the Wizard, the years would pass, and the two would meet soon enough.


	3. My Soul in a Song

~33 years later~

He looked up and down the road, lost in the twisting maze that was the shire. Then he looked to the top of the hill, a gleaming mark on a door shone, and he groaned again. "Figures, it would be up. Blasted wizards." he tied the Pony to the post nearby, his bones ached, and he felt weary. He knew it was foolish, but his heart sped up for no reason. Poor families to be friends of Gandalf’s and host a bunch of dwarves. He hoped they hadn't put the family out too much. He steeled himself for yelling, for he knew his dwarves, and he'd met the little folk near Bree before. He brought his fist up, but for a moment froze as something caught him, a wisp of a Dream. A hobbit hole, round and staring at him in the face. His breath whizzed out, his heart galumphing around in his chest. "By Mahal" he whispered, and almost turned around and ran, but he wouldn't, couldn't run from this place, but his eyes ate up the shire, trying to remember the dream from all the years ago, trying to find the house that his One resided in. Finally he turned away, catching his breath, even his chest ached. His One was dead. That had been told to him many times, and the crushing pain of it, familiar and old, settled into his soul. He brought his hand up and knocked firmly upon the door.

 

The door opened, and he heard Gandalf welcome him in, and he looked down, and his heart froze, his mouth had started to form words, but he couldn't, he could only stare, actually stumbled to a halt. Air stole from him. Golden curls and the sweet little face flashed before his eyes, and he could hear the sound of his own heartbeat through his ears. His gaze was hot, panicked as he looked over his One. He heard someone croak the word "Mahal" even as he faltered. The shock of it bearing on his features and his knee's started to go weak, and he stared at his One, his heart in his throat, the rushing in his ears was so powerful that he could not hear his kin, the world spun, and he felt arms around him, staring down at his One, he choked. Struggled to drag air in his mouth. 

His heart felt like it was going to come out of his chest, and he heard shouting, and the bellowing from Gandalf, calling his name. He couldn't look away, golden-flecked green and blue eyes looked up into his, and the air escaped him, and he made a noise in the back of his throat. Mahal's blessing, the relief was almost crippling, his One was alive. His gaze swung to the wizard, a hand reaching out to try to snatch Bilbo against his chest protectively. He tried to get his mouth to work even as the small figure started to protest, and he squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in the golden hair. He was shaken, understandably so, and then Kili and Fili where there, in front of him, both of them helping him to a chair with his suddenly still burden, and the figure was no longer trying to let go. He still couldn't hear well, he felt disarmed, vulnerable, and only thing that kept him from bolting or hyperventilating was the small warm figure cradled against him so carefully. Careful hands went into his hair and he keened softly, the noise came back around him.

"Gandalf! What's going on? " that was Kili's voice, his precious nephew, and then their was Balin, gentle Balin, there and calming his sister son. Explaining in gentle tones as he clutched his One to his chest, his One was speaking, trying to sooth him, hands in his hair. "Shush. It's okay. It's okay, I'm here." Something soothing seemed to clutch at his soul, and he let a shaky breath escape. "You where dead. They told me you where dead." the words pained, bringing silence. 

"His One." The tone was shocked, sliding from Balin's lips and a sudden flurry of shouting, wide eyes looked up at him, blue on the outside, golden curls, and the delicate ring of green around the inside. The elder dwarf seemed shocked himself, lowering himself to sit on the couch nearby, almost babbling in relief. "Gandalf, the burgler is his One. He had his dream when he was 30, like all dwarves, and all that kept him from seeking his One as we all do is that it was pronounced that his One had passed on. Their was an Orc attack, and.." he heard the pained noise from his One, and looked up, and saw Bilbo pulling his shirt up on one side, showing the scars that ran down his side. "I didn't die. That was Fell Winter." and then the noise seemed to rush through Thorin's ears. "Separating Ones is something impossible Gandalf, he would have searched the world over for his One, had the king not pronounced his One dead. He wasn't allowed, the king's proclamation that nobody so small could live through such an attack. He went into mourning, three years of mourning for his One. But I see the lad isn't dead. This changes things." the words felt strong, sinking into the very wood, so true they where. 

Then his One was speaking, Bilbo Baggins. He knew the name of his One, and it burned in his chest, and he laughed, joy shining on his face from the shock of it. "All Hobbits have a Dream and a Song. I saw the day the Dragon came to Erebor, I saw Thorin save you Balin." the words fierce. "I saw the loss your people saw, do not tell me that he is not my soul mate." 

None of them seemed to believe it, and then his One curled against him, his head resting on Thorin's chest, and a sweet sound escaped him, and he melted against it, burying his head against the shoulder held against him, even as his one sang. There was no way his One should have known the song he sang. No way any not dwarf knew it, and he felt the other's song.

He felt their shock, tearing through them, silencing them. Still the words flowed from sweet lips. Sung against Thorin's chest. He heard the company's shock, in the respectful silence as his One sang the song that Thorin himself had written after Erebor fell, he started to shake a little, as his One sang his song.

Far over the misty mountains cold  
To dungeons deep, and caverns old  
we must away, ere' break of day  
to find our long forgotten gold 

The pines where roaring on the heights  
The winds where moaning in the night  
The fire was red it flaming spread  
The trees like torches blazed with light

The wind was on we could feel the heat  
But in the forest stirring deep their shadows lay  
Be night or day, and dark things silent crept beneath

The wind went on from west to east  
A movement then in the forest seen  
But thrill went across the marsh  
it's whistling voices where released

Far well we go to hearth and home  
The wind may blow and rain befall  
we must away ere' break of day   
Follow the world and mountain toll " **

Silence fell after the song ended, and he cuddled his One to him, rising quietly, and nobody spoke, nobody could argue what they had heard.   
He heard his own voice, dimly. "He is my One, is that not proof enough for what I know and he knows? If it is, let us move to the dining room, for I need something to eat and my One needs a drink I bet." 

He carried Bilbo into the other room, the other with a shaking hand against his face, and he settled in a chair, his One settled at his side, moving to a chair and pulling it close. A cup of tea was placed in front of his One, and a bowl of soup. The others stayed in the living room, and Balin's old face looked at him, and he smiled. "Glad I am to see you found him Thorin. What news from the Iron Hills?" he paused in his eating. "They will not come." 

He heard Bilbo exhale, and he tucked the little one against his chest, and he felt the smile on his own lips.   
He glanced towards the living room, where the others sang quietly and relaxed. He felt Gandalf and the others approaching one by one.  
"A light if you would, Kili." A map came out, getting placed in front of Thorin, and he gazed upon it, heart in his throat.

"Your father gave me this before he died Thorin." the words quiet. "with this.." he pulled a key from a chain on his neck, putting it in Thorin's hand.   
"Where there is a Key. There must be a door." That was Fili, his eldest nephew, and he felt a smile tug at his lips.

"A secret door." the words quiet from his One, and he looked at him with eyes that seemed to shine.  
"Aye, a secret door Bilbo, and we have need of you, for Thorin will not be parted from his One, and I think, that the company is in need of a burglar." 

 

**Credit given to Peter Hollin’s “Misty Mountains” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEwzFF4HeB8


End file.
